Alex’s scar itched under his shirt sleeve. Normally, the old wound wasn’t prominent in his thoughts: he had more important marks on his body, after all, but this evening, a creeping sensation kept running through the long, raised scar on his arm. He scratched it absently, while sounds of revelry reached him through a thin wall and the door to the chamber the troupe was waiting in.

Hours had passed since his conversation with the archivist, and the time had been filled with frantic activity; information was shared—as the troupe did some last minute rehearsing—recounting everything they’d learned from other entertainers they’d talked to. His talk with the archivist had borne the ripest fruit, but there were interesting bits the others had discovered.

Thundar had learned from a circus act that—not too surprisingly—Kaz-Mowang favoured anything depicting the image of a bull. Minotaur performers were regarded fondly, and bulls losing in contests of beasts were judged harshly.

That made it clear to Alex and company that Thundar should be featured prominently in their act.

Guntile had learned that Kaz-Mowang tended to show his closest allies his trophy room and other important areas of the palace at the end of his galas. He was loath to leave the attention of his guests for too long.

The rest of the team hadn’t gathered much that would be helpful for their mission, except for one grim warning: the master of festivities had, without warning or hesitation, immolated performers who’d displeased her at past galas.

“Would’ve been good to know that before we decided to come down here,” Thundar had grumbled.

But, at this point, the time for grumbling and complaining had long passed.

The troupe was in a side chamber, brought there by Kaz-Mowang’s servants, just one group in a long line of mortals and fiends waiting to entertain the greater demon, and hoping to win his favour.

They’d been led through gilded hallways large enough to march armies through, each corridor was patrolled by vicious tiavshivas, pazuzites and more exotic denizens. Some were gigantic humanoids whose skin was a mass of boil-like eyeballs, creatures called; Omnesventae who were known for seeing through all but the most powerful mortal illusions. They’d licked their lips as if relishing something tasty, intently watching the performers as they’d passed, as though committing their features to memory.

Alex had no illusion as to what would happen to his team if they were taken by even one of these monsters.

But the plan was to avoid that by giving a performance that pleased the demons, especially Kaz-Mowang. If they failed…

‘We’ll be in a world of problems,’ he thought. ‘Or maybe not. Cuz…we’ll be dead.’

Thundar clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder, looking the Thameish wizard dead in the eye. “You ready?” he whispered. Behind him, the rest of the troupe stretched, preparing for their ‘debut’. Beyond them, other performers readied themselves. Some looked jittery and on the verge of fainting.

“Yeah,” Alex whispered back. “As ready as I’ll ever be. You?”

“No.” Thundar shook his head vigorously. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick…but like, I haven’t eaten in a while so it’s gonna be that nasty sorta sick that’s all burning bile and water.”

“I hear you,” Alex muttered. “I’m feeling the same way.”

“Well, don’t matter if we’re ready at this point.” Thundar tapped his mask. “Only matters that we do it, and do it right. No pressure, eh? Just confirming, but, if we die…I’m haunting your ass.”

“Likewise, Thundar,” Alex took a deep breath, fighting away stage fright and the mania-field effects warring inside him. “Likewise.”

Beyond the door, sounds of violence, and roars of fiends loudly cheering echoed through the stone. From the shrieks and wild applause, the Beasts’ performance seemed to be coming to a vile and bloody climax.

Tough act to follow.

Alex took a deep breath.

Cheers came through the wall.

Followed by silence.

“And so we have an astounding victory by Khanigor!” Kaz-Mowang’s voice boomed. “A bloody one, just the perfect appetiser. The way we like it! But now, we have something more quaint. Mortal players! See them astound and clown while you feast on my lively finger-foods! Come! I call the Troupe of the Gargoyle!”

“Here we go,” Alex whispered, leaping forward as the doors were thrown open.

Greeting them through the gaping doors was Kaz-Mowang’s ballroom, a chamber so massive that much of Patrizia DePaolo’s villa could have easily fit inside. It seemed to go on forever, gold and marble paved the floor, magical flame blazed in candelabras and braziers of platinum and ivory. The ceiling was a whirling, living tapestry of Kaz-Mowang locked in deadly combat with a horde of engeli and mortal knights.

Demons, mortal cultists and devils filled the ballroom.

They milled about, over-filling the balconies, flying above the crowd below, darting and dancing between chandeliers, feasting and toasting Kaz-Mowang.

Some of their food was still wriggling as they dropped it down their throats.

The demons were as varied as they were multitude: portly, blue-skinned fiends with maws protruding from their bellies. Beautiful, curvaceous succubi in dresses made to kill; in some ways, quite literally. Snake bodied men and women with six arms and faces raised with pride.

And more.

Many, many more.

The room’s energy had the feel of a manic mob’s, barely held in check by wills honed by millenia of existing within a disruptive field.

These were their audience as the Troupe of the Gargoyle bounded into the room. Ripp zipped across the floor like a stone skipping over a lake’s surface, blurring as he went. Then came Thundar, his head lifted in arrogance as he took on the role of Kaz-Mowang himself, flanked by illusions of luscious demons and cowering mortals.

Alex and Kyembe back flipped and danced behind him in perfect harmony, nodding to each other as they performed cartwheels. Guntile juggled fire and exploding stones, and Ezerak led a horde of beasts: lions, wyverns and drakes all prancing along like trained horses in a parade.

Even to the jaded eyes of their demonic audience, they drew attention, with increasing numbers of the fiends turning from their conversations and drinks to level gazes at these springing, dancing, capering mortals.

“Gentlefiends!” Alex cried, springing into the air, and drawing his staff from across his back. “The Troupe of the Gargoyle is here to delight you! To inspire you!”

The aeld staff gave a peal of nervous excitement as he spun it around himself in dizzying circles, using the Mark to ensure his every movement was perfect. From the staff, he launched a dozen forceballs, swirling and whirling around him.

“We aim to make you laugh, we humble players do, and make this moment in your immortal lives one to remember! At least for a few hours!” he shouted, pouring body enhancement magic over himself. Mana flooded his form, tightening his muscles, filling him with new vigour. He soared through the air, flipped and landed on a single finger, holding his staff high, balancing it on one toe of his foot.

“For that’s all we humble players can ask!” He shouted. “And that we may come even close to honouring the glory of Kaz-Mowang that he so deserves!”

As Alex shouted, he timed his words with the rise of the orchestra’s melody, letting the greater demon’s name echo through his halls. Meanwhile, Guntile flung a fistful of power stones in the air, letting them burst in flashes of coloured light, claps of thunder, and radiant smoke.

Above the central area of the ball room a longship crafted of pure glass hovered, held aloft by powerful flight magic that allowed it to orbit the chamber at a leisurely pace. Within the longship lounged dozens of jewel studded demons and cultists with golden symbols tattooed over their bare skin.

Kaz-Mowang was among them—a veritable emperor on his throne—casually watching the entertainment below.

His eyes lit up at the declaration of his glory.

‘Got you right where I want you,’ Alex thought, lifting his voice.

“Let the performance begin!” he cried.

And with another explosion from Guntile, and fearsome roars from Ezerak’s beasts, they began in earnest.

First, they led off with a re-enactment of Kaz-Mowang’s triumph at the battle of Yavic. Ezerak’s beasts provided the ‘enemy forces’, charging Thundar while he ‘struck them down.’

Ripp served as his general, praising Thundar as he marched around like a conquering emperor, while the others portrayed the cowardly, comedic enemy generals and kings that sought to throw down Kaz-Mowang’s ‘righteous rulership’.

Alex served as the capering fool, stupidly singing his master’s praises, before being slapped by Thundar for flubbing his titles. Kaz-Mowang roared with laughter at the sight.

One by one, Thundar—as Kaz-Mowang—threw down his enemies, who scrambled and stumbled around like dullards. First Kyembe fell, blasted by illusionary beams of magic. Then Ezerak. Then Ripp.

As they lay broken, Alex pulled out his final card: changing history to appeal to his audience.

Guntile stepped forward, declaring herself to be Hannar-Cim, her announcement caused Kaz-Mowang to fall silent in his longship. But he was not silent for long.

The greater demon clapped in delight as Thundar ‘crushed’ Guntile, sending the mercenary fleeing and crying out, begging for mercy before being soundly destroyed.

It was a complete lie.

A grand twisting of the truth.

And Kaz-Mowang loved every moment of it, his applause resounded through the chamber. His clapping spread among many of his guests—though for some, with markedly less enthusiasm, except for his servants—growing until applause engulfed the ballroom like runaway flame.

Alex and his troupe continued their performance, breaking into individual acts, entertaining the crowd with their own talents, strategically allowing the attention to gradually move away from them. They entertained, but unobtrusively, letting the demons return to their own conversations and drinks.

It wasn’t an epic finale…but that was by design.

A subtle ending would cement their good impression, without making them the centre of attention. They could finish their act with quiet flair then take their bows and smoothly blend into the throng of party goers, and as other acts performed, escape notice.

It might not be a good strategy for performers looking to secure permanent patronage or future contracts…but for ‘performers’ looking to slip away from the crowd to steal something?

No better way to end a performance.

And so, they went out with a whimper, as more and more demons lost interest in the quaint performers, as anticipation grew for the upcoming maze run. The only demon that watched them…with displeasure, was Yantrahpretaye.

The creature puffed out rapid streams of smoke and steam as the performance ended. “I want violence, not this play-acting and illusion!”

“You’ll get violence later, impatient one.” Zonon-In popped what looked to be a questionable piece of meat down her gullet. “The maze run will bring you what you seek. Let the quaint ones go, they have earned their lives I say.”

“Here! Here!” Kaz-Mowang roared, pounding his goblet on the table before him in the longship. “My glory was spread and my enemies were shown to be the dead buffoons they always were! Let’s not punish those who please us, or why would anyone seek to please us?”

The mechanised demon sent another irritated puff of smoke screeching over the side of the glass ship. His hungry eyes remained on the troupe, giving them a hard look that promised all sorts of horrors if he were ever alone with any of them.

Alex didn’t intend to let that happen, melting into the crowd as Kaz-Mowang announced the beginning of the maze run.

As one, the fiends began gathering, readying to move outside and watch the spectacle in the greater demon’s personal maze. Groups streamed to tables before slipping outside, quickly grabbing refreshments before heading outdoors.

The Troupe of the Gargoyle huddled at the side of the room, nodding to each other.

“Well, we didn’t die,” Thundar said.

“A fine thing, in most circumstances.” Kyembe cracked his knuckles.

“What next?” Ezerak asked.

“Now, we spread out,” Alex whispered, looking up at Zonon-In warily.

The greater demon descended from the longship through flight magic, then settled before a table filled with strange, repulsive looking pastries.

“I’ll be right back,” Alex said, then slipped through the crowd.

Moving between the revellers, he cautiously sidled up to the greater demon.

“Thank you for your support, oh mighty mistress!” He bowed deeply, the bells on his cap ringing. His voice shifted in pitch, disguising it slightly.

Zonon-In glanced down at him—a knowing twinkle—as though she was keeping a secret, dancing in her eyes. “Your patron believes in you, and so I support you.”

“Indeed!” Alex’s tone was respectful for all near to hear, “I’m glad to see you were pleased with our quaint, little performance. I hope that you keep pleasant memories with you throughout the evening. May you treasure it as you enjoy your evening, enjoying the maze run or even—if you’re so fortunate—” He gave her a meaningful look. “—if you have the pleasure of seeing mighty Kaz-Mowang’s trophies.”

Zonon-In stared down at him, her eyes shining.

“Even my patron—our old friend—would love to see them,” Alex said. “If only he were here to do so in person. But, maybe you could see them for him, tell him of their magnificence. I’m sure he’d be delighted and appreciative of that.”

The greater demon licked her lips.